


A Nobody

by szyszkaszyszka



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Gen, Growing Up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 17:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2516717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/szyszkaszyszka/pseuds/szyszkaszyszka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the great Corvo Attano was a child once and he did not have an easy childhood.<br/>The story of how a Serkonan of questionable background became the Royal Protector</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a new story that is still being formed in my head but I hope you will enjoy it and perhaps prompt me to carry on since sometimes I lack motivation

“Are you the son of Callisto Attano?”

The man was young and well dressed, clearly a noble. Why he bothered to talk to Corvo was a mystery.

“I am”, he answered anyway, his parents have taught him good manners after all.

The young man pursed his lips in thought and glanced around. The great market of Karnaca was as always full of people, all going about their own business, unconcerned by a man talking to a child.

Corvo glared at the man suspiciously, restlessly shuffling his bare feet in the dirt. They felt sore from the whole day of running around and delivering parcels to earn what little he had earned and all he wanted now was to return home. 

The only thing standing between him and his way back was this noble, standing stiffly before him with an uncomfortable grimace on his face. He was staring at Corvo in the most peculiar way and the boy had enough of it. 

“Excuse me, sir, but I have to go”, his good manners were being seriously tested. Corvo tried to walk past the annoying noble but the man grabbed his shoulder.

“Wait”, he pleaded earning himself such an intense glare that was unnatural for a child to muster, “I-, I want to give you something”.

His hand reached under his richly ornamented split-sleeve overcoat, the hat with a peacock feather tilting on his head and almost slipping off. Corvo’s muscles tensed, ready to flee should the need arise. He was a fast runner and that had often helped in getting him out of trouble. The current situation almost reeked with it. 

“Here”, the man said reaching out a clenched fist. Corvo very hesitantly put up his hand.

Several silver coins landed on his dirty palm.

Corvo looked up at the man in confusion. His mysterious benefactor looked even more uneasy. Without a word of explanation he quickly turned on his heel and walked away. The boy was too shocked to even try and get clarification. This was a lot of money, more than he had ever seen in his rather short life. He stared at the coins in dismay allowing the man to blend into the mass of people at the market. 

Breaking the spell and forcing himself to look around Corvo realized that the man was long gone.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

It had been his eyes that had caught his attention. Big brown and glistening with an inner clarity. He was a mirror image of his father. That was how he had managed to recognize the boy. Alvise did not know his name but he could see his resemblance to Callisto. 

He wandered how long it had been since he had seen Callisto himself. 

Years.

Since the day Callisto had married. 

Alvise sighed, the memories of the unfortunate celebration mixing with the anxiousness from meeting his friend’s son. 

On the one hand, the fool had been his own downfall. Alvise found it hard to forgive him his stupidity. Callisto had known that marrying that... woman would be the end of him. Having seen his son, dirty, dishevelled and in rugged clothes was just a confirmation. 

Callisto’s father had made it explicably clear that if he would marry a servant-girl he would be disinherited. Still, he went through with it. He was silly enough to love the girl. 

In one day the heir of one of the wealthiest families in Serkonos had turned into a pauper. All nobility, all of his former friends, Alvise included, had turned away from him. They had no choice, that was the custom, Serkonans were a very traditional society. Callisto had erased his own existence and good riddance for it had been his own choice! He was as good as dead. Worse, to be honest, for the dead remained on people’s lips, Callisto did not.

Nobody had ever discussed it, it was taboo. 

However when Alvise had spotted those big brown eyes, the same he had stared into with awe when he had been younger, he had felt a pang of sorrow and... shame?

He should not have ended their relationship just because his friend married a nobody and was disinherited, he should have supported him, even though it was taboo.  
The least he could do was give the boy some coin. From the way he had drawn down his brow, Alvise could tell that it was a fortune it the youngsters eyes. 

He shook his head walking fast, not wishing to confront the son of Callisto again.

The boy could have had it all, beautiful clothes, finest meals, toys, education and a careless childhood. And what did he have? Bare feet and hunger. Alvise wondered whether Lord and Lady Attano knew that they had a grandson. Probably not.

He did not wish to think about the poverty of his fallen friend, it made him feel uncomfortable. Yet, he could not erase the image of those clear eyes from his head. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Corvo, where did you get all this?”, mother asked referring to the whole basket of food he had brought home. Inside he had everything, fruits, vegetables and even some pieces of meat. He still had had enough money left to buy some sweets which he had cunningly concealed in the pockets of his oversized jacket. 

Mother’s usually pleasant features wrinkled in distrust. She looked over the food cautiously with Flavia peering over her shoulder with hunger clearly visible in her eyes. She reached out her small hand to grab a lusciously red apple but was reprimanded with a glare from their mother. 

“Corvo, did you steal this?”, mother asked, fisting her hands at her sides. Flavia, seeing that she was distracted by her older brother, snatched the apple and scooted away to devour it on a stool behind the kitchen stove. “When your father gets home...”

Corvo shrunk under mother’s accusing stare but stood his ground.

“I didn’t steal this!”, he opposed, trying to sound mature. “I bought this.”

Mother crossed her arms across her chest, unconvinced.

“You could not afford this much with your pay. Don’t lie to me, son, you know I don’t tolerate lying.”

Corvo dropped his gaze, his certainty draining from him. He had thought that she would be happy to see the food he brought, not that she would question him so. At least his sister seemed pleased.

The setting sun bathed the kitchen in a warm orange light, reflecting in the unusually bright blue of mother’s eyes. 

When he had come she was in the process of patching up their clothes which were now abandoned on the table beside the food basket. 

“A man gave me money”, he uttered quietly, unsure of how she would react.

He felt beads of sweat running down his forehead in the hot kitchen.

Mother brushed back her dark mass of hair, her eyebrows shooting up, trying to comprehend her son’s words. Meanwhile, Flavia snuck up to steal another apple. She was not used to such delicious treats and despite their mother’s displeasure, Corvo was happy to see the smile on his sister’s face.

“Were you begging again?”, mother’s eyes narrowed dangerously. 

It was true that he had done so in the past. Corvo did not blame his parents but too often he would go hungry. His own hunger was a dull ache but seeing his sister's hunger would always break him. He was the older brother, her protector... so he had begged for money, swallowing down his pride.

“No, mother, I wasn’t begging. The man asked me if I was Callisto Attano’s son and I told him that I was and he just gave me money and walked away.”

Mother looked away from him, biting on her lower lip. She seemed to understand something he did not. Taking the basket firmly into her slender hands she gave him a soft look,

“We do not accept handouts’, she whispered barely audibly, “We have our honour.” 

She lifted her chin high but kept the basket in her clenched fists. Corvo shared a look with his sister who was just finishing her second apple. They would eat a proper dinner today. 

Mother send them outside not to have two lively children running around her kitchen as she relished the amount of food before her. 

In the sunbathed yard Corvo and Flavia sat under the shadow of a solitude olive tree. The day was nearing its end and they awaited the moment their father would return home from work. Despite how dead tired he always was after the whole day spent in whale oil factory, he would always muster more energy to play with his children. For Corvo and Flavia this was the pivotal moment of the day. 

Flavia fussed with leaves she picked up from the dirt ground. In the setting sun her hair had a golden quality, glistening when she would tilt her head.

“So do you have anything for me?”, she asked sparing him a glance before returning her attention to the ripped leaves.

Corvo huffed, stretching his legs and placing himself comfortably against the tree trunk. He rested his hands on his grumbling stomach.

“Why would I have anything for you?”, he murmured, hiding a smirk.

She dropped her plaything, to glare at him with disappointment. 

“You always do”, she replayed, twisting her lips into a sad expression, “First you tell me about the deliveries you made, then you surprise me with a gift.”

“Not always”

“This time you had money”

“I bought food, isn’t that enough of a treat?”

She crossed her thin arms, looking too much like their mother.

“No”

Corvo sighed, smiling inwardly at the stubbornness of his younger sister. That was a trait of character he shared with her. He put a hand into a pocket each and presented her with two fists to choose from. She parted her lips in dismay but quickly made her choice, pointing at his left hand and was rewarded with candy. Flavia almost squealed in joy. They would only get sweets once a year for Fugue Feast from their father. Surprisingly enough she did not swallow it whole, but took her time to enjoy the best taste in the entire world. Yet, when the candy was just a sweet memory Flavia turned her attention to his right fist.

“What do you have there?”, she asked trying to pry his fingers open. 

Corvo made an offended face.

“So this is all you are interested in? The gifts I bring?"

Flavia seemed to reconsider as she assumed her sweetest expression.

“What did you do today, Corvo?”, she sounded so sincere that he couldn’t help but laugh.

He unclenched his fist where he had hidden a harmonica. Flavia’s eyes brightened even more and an enormous grin spread across her face. She stood from under the tree, looking at him expectantly. 

Corvo licked his lips before putting the instrument against his mouth. He wasn’t the best musician but father had taught him enough to play a coherent and melodic piece. Flavia gleefully responded to the notes, twirling to the simple rhythm. 

Corvo wished everyday could be as careless as this day but that was dependent upon whether they had anything to eat and that was always an uncertainty. Tomorrow would be another day of hardship and he intended to make the most of the moment. 

He shut his eyes closed to enjoy the warmth of the sun on his face, his ears full of his own music and Flavia’s laughter. He did not even notice that father had returned and watched them with a heart-warming smile, already informed that today they would not be hungry.


	2. Chapter 2

He enjoyed the salty breeze that came from the sea so it had been a treat to run an errand in Karnaca's grand port. Seagulls flocked above in the cloudless sky, calling out longingly, or crowding where fish leftovers were being dumped, fighting over the better parts. The fishing area of the port was more dilapidated than the newer section constructed solely for those enormous whaling vessels. He had seen them on the way, they reminded him of metal monsters that were sent to hunt down the mysterious creatures of the sea. However, his business was with a fisherman, not with a whaler, and thank the Void for that for the intimidating men in masks with air filters made him more than a little uneasy.

The sun burnt his back as he looked around for his recipient. The craftsman had only briefly described the fellow and had given Corvo a name. Gob. 

That did not sound like a real name nor did the description help. Many of the fishermen were bold, toothless and tattooed, any one of them could be Gob. It did not make matters easier that the actual delivery, a repaired fishing net, was darn heavy and wrapped around his shoulders for support, making breathing in the hot moist weather even more arduous. Still, he had been promised coin, he wasn't just going to give up this easily.

No one really paid much attention to him, he could have been a ghost. This stirred a strange sensation within him, although he should have gotten used to the lack of recognition. Yet, it made him vaguely angry, as if their denying of his existence could make him any less of a person. 

Corvo sighed, resigned, knowing that he had to ask one of the unpleasant looking fishermen for direction. The boy approached the first bold tattooed guy who looked like he belonged in the guttery port. His vest, under which he wore no shirt, was stained with all colours of the rainbow and Corvo did not wish to guess their origin.

“Excuse me...sir”, Corvo despised having to address this degenerate with respect that he neither earned nor deserved but everyone was a potential client so he had to steady his tongue.

The man did not acknowledge his presence in any way, his gaze fixed somewhere above Corvo's head. The boy watched for a moment with disgust the chewing motion of that square jaw, a cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

“Hey!”, Corvo raised his voice taking a bold step forward. The dope could forget any more respect on Corvo’s part, tit for tat.

Uninterested eyes wandered down to meet the boy's incessant glare.

“What?”, he mumbled, not caring enough to remove the cigarette. Was it stuck to his mouth?

“I'm looking for someone named Gob”, Corvo spoke restraining his resentment and trying to balance the heavy net.

The man made a throaty noise that the boy did not know how to interpret and banged his fist on a nearby wooden shack.

“Gob!”, he bellowed and Corvo caught a glimpse of what he had been chewing on. Another cigarette.

A bold crook with a toothless grimace shot out of the shack, his arms almost fully covered with marine designs. The description had not mentioned, however, that the man was as tall and as broad as a mountain. He cast a long shadow that enveloped the boy.

“What”, a low growl escaped his throat, his gaze fixed on Corvo. The youngster wished he could again be invisible, but stood his ground nonetheless.

“Delivery”, Corvo murmured.

Gob looked him over, either appraising the fishing net or the boy himself, and finally took the weight off Corvo's shoulders. It appeared light and fragile in his enormous hands.

The man dumped it behind some fish-stacked barrels and returned his attention to Corvo. Gob muffled the youngster's long dark hair, a fatherly gesture were it not for his greasy fingers and the crooked smile on his face. 

“My payment”, Corvo insisted, unimpressed by the attempts at patronizing him. 

Gob huffed, spreading an unfavourable aroma of his breath.

“Of course”, he mumbled and offered Corvo the coin. The boy took it, counting as best he could.

“This wasn’t the deal. I was promised more”, he was no fool, he wouldn’t let this halfwit cheat him. People assumed that since he was young they could take advantage of him. Not a chance. 

“Scoot away, I ain’t givin’ you a penny more”, Gob growled, turning away from the little annoyance but Corvo wasn’t this easily dissuaded. He grabbed the bull-man’s elbow.

“I want my money. We had a deal!”, the boy was persistent, fisting his hands.

Gob scowled at him, looming over the pest. His knuckles made a very unpleasant sound as he worked them.

“Here’s the deal. You get out of my sight now and you get to keep the coin, or I get to keep your teeth.”

He spread his mouth to give Corvo a clear view of his naked gums. The smell was gagging. 

The boy did not bother to conceal his disappointment, turning to leave lest he get into any more trouble. He spared the cheater one last hateful glare but his eyes found something else, something more interesting. 

Corvo did not take the time to consider what he was about to do, he acted on an instinct. With the swiftness, speed and agility of a spider money his hand shot out to snatch a fish from the barrel. It was slimy and slippery but he held it firmly in his grasp as he darted away.

“Hey! Came back here you little thief!”, Gob called after him but Corvo was long gone, his feet caring him off faithfully.

He wasn’t a thief, he had merely settled the deal. The fish was making up the difference in payment. Now they were even. Shame Gob didn’t view it this way, he would have to avoid the port for some time now. 

___________________________________________________________________________

It was exceptionally kind of the lady to let him cook his fish over her fire. Corvo sat on a stool behind her stall, nibbling on his prize. It was earned not stolen. He watched sleepily as she stirred the contents of the large pots, chopping up vegetables and meat for the goulash. The aroma was inviting and he hoped that someday he could afford a bowl of the appetizing meal. Still, he was content with the cooked fish and the warm feeling inside his stomach. 

The sun was still quite high over the horizon so he decided he had time for another job. Corvo licked his fingers clean, making the most of what little flavour remained. Now where would he find another-.

“Hey kid, you want to make some money?”

A man was looking directly at him. He was neatly clothed, not a high born but well off enough to be wrinkling his nose in displeasure at the sight of the dirty boy. Still, he seemed determined to do business.

“What can of job are we talking about?”, Corvo raised an eyebrow, leaving his retreat. The word ‘money’ always caught his interest but his mother had told him many times that they had their dignity and warned him not to agree to everything and not to take every single work offer if there was anything suspicious about it.

A letter appeared in the man’s hand.

“Deliver this letter for me, discretely”, he extended his arm to pass the parcel to Corvo but made sure that the dirty fingers would not touch his. “The address is written on the envelope”.

Corvo was about to tell the man that he could not read when a woman appeared by his side. Her face was twisted in a haughty expression, an umbrella shadowing her wrinkly middle-aged face.

“There you are, dear”, she tugged at the man’s shoulder, “I have seen the most gorgeous-“

She paused to gaze at the boy standing stiffly before her. Her husband noticed her curiosity and acted quickly

“Shoo shoo, off with you, little rascal,” he motioned at Corvo, waving his hands dismissively with a stern expression.

Seeing that the boy would keep his silence, he circled his arm around the lady and walked her away but turned to confidentially blink before blending in with the passersby.

Corvo rolled his eyes before returning them to the envelope. He stared at the letters, trying his best to decipher them, sticking his tongue out in concentration. 

The first letter could have been ‘r’... or ‘t’  
Maybe ‘5’?  
Or actually any other letter, number or symbol.

He sighed. It was futile.   
The scribbling made no sense to him.

Corvo decided to try his luck with the nice lady making the goulash. She smiled at him warmly seeing him again. When he asked whether she could help him read the address she was happy to help him. Her expression, however, changed as her eyes scrutinized the letters. They wandered between Corvo and the envelope before settling on the boy with the most peculiar look. She pursed her lips looking unsure about herself. Very hesitantly she gave him directions.

Thanking her, Corvo took off, wandering why would the address make her so tense.


	3. Chapter 3

This was a very bad idea.

The feeling nagged at him, his conscious mind rebelling against the feet that carried him on into the foreign territory.

Corvo did not know this area of Karnaca, yet that was only partially why he was so anxious. Mostly it was the people, scoundrel looking, tracing his movement with dubious interest. He felt himself vulnerable, exposed to the nefarious urges that could spawn behind their glassy eyes. 

Mother have been would be furious if she was aware that went to a place like this.

Corvo knew the taste of poverty and all that it implied but being here, wherever he was, he came to understand something more profound. There was poverty and there was poverty. One could suffer it with dignity and work hard to amend it, that was what his parents were doing, or one could embrace the gutter, grow attached to it, and keep sliding downhill never to hit the bottom for there was no trench too deep if there was no sense of own dignity.

The smell of the place threaten to call the fish he had eaten back to the outside world, yet he was intended on keeping it within the confines of his stomach.

If he was not miserable enough, the bulging dark velvet clouds on the horizon would surely correct that. Distant rumbling promised a storm and Corvo knew the ferocity of Serkonan storms. They light up the night and drowned the streets in relentless water pouring from the sky, sometimes for days.

The horrified expression of the goulash lady haunted his memory. Corvo wondered if the situation could get any worse and immediately he thought that yes, it could. There was so much potential for it to develop negatively, not that he was a pessimist, he could judge the reality well. 

The writing on the rundown several-story building matched that of the envelope. It perfectly completed the imagine of the dark forsaken neighbourhood, soulless and haunted at the same time. 

He had second thoughts about going inside, seriously considering simply dumping the letter and turning on his heel to leave. The place looked like it could be housing a gang and his father had thoroughly lectured Corvo on the dangers of consorting with their kind. They could hurt him or enrol him against his will and father had made it explicitly clear that neither was preferable.

Corvo watched his fist be drawn towards the wooden doors. Thoughts of money and food that money would buy kept him going. Yet before his hand made contact with the hard surface, the doors opened themselves.

Corvo’s heart froze as he choked on a gasp.

A neatly dressed man passed him on his way out. As he was fastening his cravat, a sheepish look stole into his features upon noticing the mortified boy. He quickened his pace, suddenly finding his cravat too tight.

Warm light seeped through the gap in the hinging door. It seemed welcoming enough and Corvo gently pushed them and entered.

It would be folly to say that he was surprised upon seeing the interior for it in no way resembled the ruinous landscape outside. The hallway was light by multiple candles and, along with the heavy velvet drapes, they created an aura of homely comfort. The smell was pleasing too, as if of burning herbs. The only aspect of the decor that caused him to falter were the paintings of women, noticeably scarcely dressed. Corvo stiffly averted his gaze, feeling his face flash red. He fixed his attention on what seemed like a reception desk. 

Behind it sat a women, casually filing her nails. Red lips stood out like a warning sign but she seemed decently dressed in a tight beige shirt buttoned up to her neck. A loose black braid, it was difficult to find a Serkonan with a different hair colour and eyes other than brown, was pinned up, several curly strands coming free. 

The woman pursed her alarming lips and blew at her nails. She stretched her arm forward to appraised the work from afar and the slender figure of the boy clarified in her vision.

Standing up to scrutinize the unexpected intruder, Corvo could see initial slight puzzlement on her face, her eyebrows twitched up. She seemed to be calculating something in her mind. A rather sly smile twisted those lips, her brows meeting with a wrinkle of her forehead.

“Aren't you a little too young to be coming here?”, she asked with constrained amusement, yet at the same time with a quality he could not quite put his finger on. As if trying to lure him? Corvo couldn't find the right word in his not fully developed vocabulary. She gestured for him to came closer with a finger bending at him incredulously, “how old are you?”

Corvo clenched the envelope in his hands, unsure where this was going and what did his age have to do with anything, “Eleven.”

She seemed to consider his words, tapping the newly filed nails on the counter, tilting her head in thought, “weeeel”, she prolonged with a sigh, “you looked younger to me, what with the too big jacket and your small form lost somewhere in it. Still, you’re too young. Come back in few years and then we'll talk business.”

Corvo blinked quickly with a grimace. Either the lady was trying to cheat him somehow or... Why did she keep saying that he was too young? This was preposterous.

He stepped forward resting his elbows stubbornly on the counter, barely reaching it.  
“I'm here to do business now”, he announced wanting to be rid of the envelope and be back home before the deluge. The woman wasn't making it any easier.

She squinted her eyes bending a little to bring herself down to his height.  
“And what exactly would that be.”

Corvo slammed the envelope before her, tired of the game and walking around the subject. 

This day just kept getting worse and he could not understand why was he being punished so. Maybe because he was not a faithful devotee of those strange masked female preachers. He had seen them around the town, mainly in the great market, teaching about some strictures people had to follow in order to protect themselves from sin and from the dark powers. Corvo never paid much heed to their words, deeming them whims for the wealthy who could afford to waste their time for religious activities. For him, time was, literally, money. Now he wandered if things would get worse before the day was done and whether he himself was the one to blame. Sinners would be punished, the preachers had said.

The woman looked at the letter with a baffled expression.

“Delivery”, Corvo explained as if it was not straight forward and required elaboration.

Her confusion finally gave way to a relieving laughter, catching Corvo off guard, in turn. Still, she took the envelope and hid it somewhere behind the counter, flashing him amused smiles. 

What is so funny, the boy wondered with annoyance, waiting patiently for his well earned pay. 

The woman playfully ruffed up his hair, still laughing to herself. This was the second time today that someone had touched the messy dark bush on his head and the first time had not ended too..smoothly. Corvo tensed, yet needlessly for before he knew it, she had delivered the expected amount of coin.

'Vera', a feminine voice called beyond a curtain and soon a shapely figure of a young brunette appeared, “the Madame had called-“

She spoke but then her alluring eyes found the dark eyes of the boy, anything but out of place in the velvet grandness of a public house. To Corvo's shame she was barely dressed, in a tightly fitted corset protruding her breasts and stockings making her long tanned legs appear even darker. He felt himself flushing red.

“Who is this?”, she purred, the click clack of her heels reverberating through his heating ears as she drew closer. The beauty knelt before him as like she was admiring a little kitten. Surely, she behaved as if he was a cute pet, the way she pinched his check, nose and chin. Corvo was too transfixed to even fathom a reaction. 

“He is adorable!”, she cooed, pressing him against herself. Now he was burning red. “Can we keep him?”

The woman from the reception desk, Vera, replied with a chuckle, “well that's for the Madame to decide whether we can have a mascot.”

Corvo made sure the coin was in his pocket,  
'I'm sorry, I have to go', he mumbled and left with a quick pace but he kept hearing the amused laughter even when he had arrived back on the street.

Dark clouds over his head dimmed the day making it feel like an early evening. Seldom raindrops began striking his head and neck sending shivers down his spine. The overcast significantly lower the temperature, all the more with the violent gusts of wind tugging at his over-sized over-used jacket. Corvo stuffed his hands into pockets to warm himself up. His fingers fondly traced the outlines of the safely stored coins.

A brothel, he snarled, the weasel sent me to a brothel. Corvo's annoyance grew as he remembered the stupid winking before the man had left with his wife. As satisfied as he was with the clinging in his pocket, he felt dishonest participating in the pompous cheater's depravity and adultery. 

What kind of man would send a boy to a brothel?   
Corvo sighed.  
The same kind of man who had no moral objections to attend one himself.

Mud stuck to his bare feet. Mother would be angry and would make him scrub them clean. He didn't care, she could punish him all she wanted and for whatever stroked her fancy, Corvo just wanted to be back home. 

The district grew even gloomier with the rain already an unrestrained downpour. Corvo was soaking wet, strands of long hair attacking his eyes. He could barely see where he was going.

Turning the corner he almost bumped into someone, his heart jumping at the sudden resistance.

“Sorry”, Corvo mumbled and tried to side step to pass the stranger but to his terror the tall form grabbed him by his shoulders.

The boy blinked past the strands in his eyes, clearing his vision.  
A dangerously glaring face scowled at him, scarred and dirty.

“Ay, where you off to, kid?', his voice was as rough as gravel.

Corvo wiggled out of the painful grip, his heart pounding in a reckless rhythm. 

Before he could dart away he realized he was closely surrounded. All of them were dirty looking scoundrels but of different ages. Some of them, he noticed with a pang of despair, could not be older than himself. They were being trained, as it seemed, trained in the art of mugging by their older counterparts. 

Corvo tensed and simultaneously tried to shrink into himself. Never before had he been in such a situation, never before so terrified.

“Give us all you have”, the gravelly voice demanded and before the boy could even respond they began shoving him between each other. He was afraid he would choke on the cold air desperately filling his lungs.

Finally he caught his breath.  
“I don't have anything!”, he shrieked, putting arms up to protect his face. “Do I look like I’m rich?!”

They grabbed him, poking, and the clinging of coin was clearly audible. Someone tore his jacket off him. Despite the cold, his body was heated from the struggle and he could see sweat evaporating from his skin, as if it was burning and emitting smoke.

“Give it back”, Corvo demanded though he was clearly in no position to do so. Yet, inside he felt convinced to keep what belong to him and coupled with his conviction of self-worth, it gave him the will to fight back, to muster a courage he did not even know he was capable of. “I earned it, it’s mine!”

The poking escalated to a punch to his ribs, forcing him to bend over and cough violently. Regaining sense of direction Corvo lunged at their leader, scratching and biting. The man yelled, more so in shock than pain, trying to rid himself of the pest striking at him relentlessly. 

Waving his arms around carelessly, he tripped and they both fell to the ground, muddy water splashing around them. The impact of the crush deprived Corvo of breath but there was no time to worry about that. He reached for his jacket, already struggling up to flee using the moment of the assailants' confusion.

Unfortunately, they were not as disorganized as he had hope. A strong hand caught his ankle and yanked him back, causing him to scrape his cheek against the ground. Corvo hissed as he felt his skin being torn, tasting blood in his mouth.

“Big mistake, brat.”

A heavy punch to his head blurred Corvo's world to a white senseless void.


	4. Chapter 4

Shame ushered Alvise forward despite the wall of rain he had encountered upon leaving his sweet retreat. He caught himself smiling stupidly for what he instantly reprimanded the fool that he was. A pathetic fool and a liar at that. 

He should never come here again, he made a mental note of the resolution. Alvise knew he would not keep it but then again why should he?

What wrong was he committing? His wife had never loved him and he shared the sentiment, or rather the lack of it. Their marriage had been a political arrangement, neither had ever attained any false expectations to it. Alvise was almost certain his dearest wife had a lengthy list of lovers and he felt in no way enticed to intervene as long as she intended to keep it a secret. If people knew... he would become the laughing stock of the society, Alvise could not have that but luckily his beloved spouse knew that the consequences would extend to her. Since she kept her fidelity so passionately, he had every right to indulge himself in some earthly pleasures from time to time.

So why did he feel the shame all over his body?

Musing over that what brought him both pleasure and disgust, Alvise adjusted his grip on the handle of an umbrella trying to shelter himself from the pounding rain. 

As he turned the corner, a horrifying sight crushed him, draining his mind of all the previous thoughts. Alvise could feel his face turning pale and a whimper of despair escaped his throat.  
Initially he could not entirely decipher what he was seeing, a bloody heap of twisted limbs. Closer examination escalated his dread to a level of frantic shock. This wreckage was Callisto's son.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The music was an oddity. It was familiar, stirring something within Corvo despite his senseless state. As disoriented as he felt, lost in a world of a misty haze, he was grateful to have at least the distant melody to bring some solace. 

Corvo concentrated all his will power on decoding the sensation the tune brought about within him. He imagined all the constituting notes suddenly detaching themselves, each a warm shimmer of light that he had to catch if he wanted to unravel the mystery. As the boy collected them all after a motionless chase, they fused back into the melody but this time retelling him his own memory as they fluently sounded one after the other and simultaneously in unison.

The unnerving white nothingness fell apart and he was back in the sunbathed backyard of his house, the olive tree casting a dispersed shadow across father's face. He sat with his legs crossed, hair tied back out of the way. His fingers skilfully plucked strings of a guitar playing a merry tune, but different to the one that Corvo had heard in that void.

“Very good, Corvo”, mother’s laughter, as melodic as the music itself, made him realize that he was dancing. She was holding his hands, twirling him around. Flavia stood to the side gleefully clapping her hands, awaiting her turn.

“Two turns left, clap, two turns right, clap, bend forward, clap...”, mother was instructing as she led the way and Corvo paid close attention to her words, making mental notes so as not to make any mistakes.

Father had been humming along with the guitar but seeing his son so fondly following his mothers guide had to comment proudly,

“You feel the music well, Corvo, you hear it with your heart and it leads your body just like it should, passionately.” 

The boy brimmed with pride hearing the praise yet he managed to maintain his concentration and did not miss a step. He realized that only dancing awoke in him the feeling of utter freedom, like his body was weightless and it no longer trapped his soul within its material confines. Corvo could soar high carried by the music, unconcerned with mundane problems, untouched by sadness, humiliation, pain or hunger. Allowing his body the release that dancing provided seemed to connect him with his true form, the purity and fullness of his being, the being that was indivisibly and unquestionably Corvo. There was something primal to it too, in the way he let his instincts guide him. This made the whole experience so much more sensual.

“You will woo every girl at the summer festival”, father snickered as he suddenly set the guitar aside and rubbed his hands together eagerly, “this is all good but there is more out there than the common dances. You certainly wouldn't impress anyone at a ball. Nobles are very picky about these sort of things. How about we try something harder, hmm? Something that wouldn't shame you in court.”  
Corvo was eager to learn but the prospect of learning a dance that befitted the highborn made him queasy.

“But what would be the point? How could I ever use it?”

And most importantly, how did father know of the blue-veined ball affairs? Corvo abstained from asking sensing he would not receive a conclusive answer.

“Who knows”. the tall Serkonan winked with a smile, “maybe someday you will dance with an Empress and I will not have my own son, my flesh and blood, shame me by not knowing the proper conduct.”

Corvo rolled his eyes at the preposterous idea. He, a Serkonan, who more often went about hungry than fed, in a jacket that once belonged to his father but was now tattered and significantly larger than the malnourished boy who wore it. He did not even own a pair of shoes. Undoubtedly Corvo was a dancing partner material for an empress.

The music began and he took in the new lesson with utmost care. The same music he had heard. Serious and sorrowful but painfully beautiful, like righteous tears glistening before they streamed down a face.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Flavia pulled the bed covers tightly over her head. Her eyes were wide open in the frowsty confinement. Distant rumbling caused her to muffle her ears as the girl bit on her lower lip. A piercing shine lit up the night, penetrating even her bed covers. For a split second she could see her little fists clenching to the sheets in terror. She lost the imagine but the momentary stillness was disrupted by a violent thunder, sounding too close for comfort. A helpless whimper escaped Flavia's throat.

The girl re-emerged from the soft shelter, finding that she could no longer draw a breath. Gazing around the little room lit by the storm her tired eyes fell on Corvo's empty bed, the covers folded neatly just as he had left them. Instantly tears forced themselves onto her bony cheeks.

Why wasn't her brother home yet? The element waged a battle against itself outside and he was out there, exposed to the weather's mercy or the more likely lack of it.

Despite the close crackling of thunder the girl sat up, blinking frantically to force the wetness from the reddening eyes. 

Mother and father had been arguing, she had watched, hidden and peeking. Flavia knew it had been not out of contempt but from the worry for their only son. Still, there had been some nasty things said, a lot of wild hand gestures and then father had slammed the door and left. He had gone out to look for Corvo while mother, with shaking hands, had returned to patching up the boy's trousers. As she skilfully manoeuvred the needle, clenching to the material as though it was her son, she wept silently. 

When father had returned after several hours he had returned alone. 

Flavia shuddered as another thunder deafeningly roared in the moonless night. She waited for it to stop, to dissolve into the hammering of the rain but it wouldn't. Confused, the girl concentrated on the noise. Thumping...on the door.

She jumped out of the bed and dashed into the hallway thinking initially that Corvo had finally come back. Even before she had reached the door she realized it was a fool's hope. Her brother would not knock, he would have simply entered.

Father passed her in the narrow hall, lit now by a single candle mother had left for Corvo's return. Callisto put a hand on her shoulder gesturing for Flavia to stay back. He reached for the knob and hastily cracked the doors open.

Beyond stood a man whose features were barely visible in the cursed weather. Flavia couldn't even tell his age but she was certain that she had never seen him before. His clothes signified that he had to be a butler of some wealthy family. The girl hid behind her father, tugging at her night dress, her skinny legs suddenly shivering from the cold gusts the open doors allowed to enter.

“Yes?”, Callisto asked, clearly as puzzled as his little girl.

“Mister Attano?”, the man inquired and Flavia decided that he had to be still young enough to sound imposing.

“What can I do for you?”, there was an aura of suspicion masked with politeness in fathers voice. Flavia shared the sentiment.

“I was sent by Lord Pauletto to inform you that he has found your son in a dire state and had taken him in to care for the boy. His Lordship invites you to his manor due to the circumstances that have arisen. Will you accompany me to the cart?”

Flavia could see father’s ashen face but he did not ask any questions, he simply followed the stranger outside, into the rain, not even bothering to take a coat. The girl turned to see mother standing behind her with swollen eyelids and a miserable expression. She put her soft hand on Flavia’s head and then hugged her daughter dearly. 

Father had gone to some Lord's house to fetch Corvo? This did not make the least bit of sense.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The doctor had said that the boy would recover. Alvise had received this message with paramount relief though was unsure where did this sympathy come from. He simply could not have looked the other way seeing the miniature version of Callisto bleeding out in muck and mood. Alvise had the boy transported to the Pauletto mansion and patched up by the medic. Miraculously the internal damage did not require any surgery but the open wounds needed to be cleaned and stitched. The boy now had to rest and let his frail body repair itself.

Alvise ordered for him to be placed in one of the guest rooms, looking unnaturally grand in contrast with the dirty boy tugged in a bed so big that he could get lost in it. 

A child should not be forced to endure such hardship. Alvise felt something heavy on his chest as he thought about his own son, probably the one good thing that resulted from his marriage. Callisto's boy seemed younger than his own and yet in his short life he must have suffered more than he could imagine. Alvise found himself cursing his ex-friend once again finding his damning choices to be the source of this lad's misery. Had he married a respectable lady his son would have been now a well-fed well-dressed youngster with a bright future. Alvise planned on crushing that truth through to Callisto once he'd arrive. The man had inevitably doomed his offspring.

Alvise left the boy to his dearly required rest, sleeping or unconscious he wasn't sure, but breathing steadily.

Outside the guest room he was apprehended by his wife who was clearly in a foul mood. Her thin brows twitched dangerously above cold piercing eyes. She straightened the folds of the auburn dress before she spoke,

“Is there something you would like to tell me, Alvise dear?”, her tone put a lie to the intimate way she addressed him. 

Frankly, he did not want to speak with the woman and discuss the presence of the stranger in their house. Still, he was well aware that she already knew everything and playing games with her would get him nowhere.

“Thea-“, Alvise began cautiously but was stopped before he could even form a coherent sentence.

“Don't you ‘Thea’ me!”, the woman snarled giving him a scrutinizing look, “you pulled some brat out of the gutter and brought him to my home”, she was more enrage than he could have expected. Alvise decided against reminding her that this was the Paulette manor and marring into the family did not bestow ownership onto her. “I don't even want to think about the diseases this...this...little pest carries with him but if I catch fleas, I swear on the Void, Alvise, I will-'

She was pointing a meaty finger at him, the sharp nail painted maroon, but Thea seemed unable to complete the threat. Alvise merely hoped that her ranting wouldn't wake the poor child. 

“I know why you brought him home, Alvise”, his wife snapped apparently changing the subject, slightly. 

He sure was curious what that was according to her. 

“Do you?”

Her ample breasts heaved as if attempting to threaten the man on their own.

“Why would any man pick a child from the street and show kindness to him?”, Thea asked rhetorically but from her cynical tone he knew that the expected answer wasn't compassion, “he is your bastard isn't he?!”

This accusation caught Alvise completely off guard. It was just as preposterous as it was hurtful. Yet, at the same time, he realized it wasn't, in theory, out of the realm of possibility. Did he have any children, somewhere, out in the city, bearing his traits but not his name? The thought made him cringe inwardly and he reminded himself that he was being accused of fathering the boy in the guest room and that wasn't true. Thea would be a shallow hypocrite if she was going to be playing the infidelity card right now. 

“That is not my son”, Alvise uttered regaining control of his voice, “he is a son of my friend.”

Thea's thin lips curled displeasingly,

“Now you'll be trying to convince me that you have friends amongst those dirty industrial workers?”

Alvise in truth felt quite offended by his wife's mistrust. He had never done anything to hurt her, quite the contrary, he had made sure that her life was careless and luxurious and what had that earned him? Disapproving glares and requests to explain his acts of charity.

“This is Attano's child”

This made Thea pause, her lips parting as she mused over that new piece of information.

“Which Attano?”, she was still sceptic, grabbing her husband's elbow to draw him closer and lowering her voice to a whisper, “I do not think the senior Lord Attano would be still capable of siring a child, while his son, as I hear, is having difficulties with producing an heir, to his father’s gravest disappointment and displeasure, due to his...conflicting interest, if you catch my meaning.”

Alvise did understand what she was getting as he shared those interests but this wasn’t really the time to have the conversation with her. Moreover, he believed that their intimate lives were their separate business. Thea had never made him feel otherwise.

“The older son of Attano. Callisto Attano”, he clarified putting his musings aside. The name earned him a mortified look from his wife.

“Callisto Attano is dead”, she murmured plainly but they both knew that she was repeating what the taboo required her to say. It was stupid to say the least and made Alvise angry.

“You know he isn’t”, he growled but Thea simply shrugged.

“If the child in that room is truly his son then it only confirms my words. It is not living.”

Alvise sighed but before he could fight the confines of Thea’s mind, the butler interrupted them.

“My lord, Mister Attano is here to see you.”

Thea scowled at her husband but thankfully kept her biting mouth shut.


	5. Chapter 5

Alvise was about to tell the butler to take Attano to his study but he seemed to lose his verbal abilities. 

A tall man with piercing brown eyes and a growth of facial hair, that made his own clean-shaven jaw itch at the mere thought of such unkemptness, strode towards him like he owned the place. Perhaps one could be fooled into believing that he did, were it not for the intruder’s worn out striped shirt and trousers that had seen better days but were still kept in place by trusty suspenders. Though the outer most shell of Callisto had clearly been weathered by poverty, the core had remained untouched. His noble soul projected itself through those clear brown eyes, shining like a beacon and testifying of the true nature of this degraded man. 

Despite the appearance he still managed to look well placed in the grandeur of the Pauletto mansion. There was more to Callisto than met the eye. It had always been so, even when he had been groomed and adorned in the finest clothes, still an heir to the Attano fortune.

Seeing Callisto now, after so many years and in various ways damaged by the life he had chosen, stirred within Alvise deep regret, replacing the fiery anger he had felt before. 

The lord travelled back in time, back to their youth, careless days when their friendship had been flourishing. In his mind's eye Callisto was once more the dashing youngster, strong in hand and bright in thought. Clean, in a maroon shirt ornamented with gold, his hair trimmed short, he looked as if he could order mountains to move. He certainly could have ordered Alvise to do anything, not that he had ever exploited this fidelity. The heir of the Pauletto family had nurtured a deep respect and almost a laughable awe for his peer. Callisto had always been the better one, something that Alive found promiscuously agreeable. A role model is to be followed and cherished, after all, not overthrown.

Callisto had pushed himself off the pedestal. This profanity twisted Alivse's soul as he realized that it was him now who was the better, higher in the hierarchy of being and of virtue. It did not feel right, not agreeable, not natural. 

None of this would have happened were it not for Callisto's voluntary dethronement. Still, as Alvise ventured into the brown eyes which held him in one place with a strength that had to be otherworldly, he began to question his own superiority. Callisto even now could make him feel small and insignificant and the lord did not feel particularly bothered by this. 

What he did feel was desperation, desperation to worm himself back into his ex-friends favour. Alvise needed to see approval on Callisto's face, just like he needed air, except he only now realized how much he had missed it and had been dying piece by piece ever since he had accepted the social norms that dictated that the man who stood before him did not exist anymore.

“Alvise”, Callisto greeted him in a cold tone, which the lord found hurtful. Yet, he there was comfort in being addressed by his name rather than the title. Alvise would not stomach being called 'lord Pauletto' by his better. 

Still, Callisto had no social right to use the aristocrat's first name, but then again neither did he have the social right to exist. Thea, however, could not look past the disrespectful behaviour of this nobody who violated the sanctity of her house. For her the whole situation more than just disagreeable and Alvise could see from the way that her forehead wrinkled the woman was about to descent into a lengthy elaboration that would undoubtedly result in offensive remarks on Callisto's behalf.

“Thea, can you leave us, please”, Alvise made sure that it did not sound like a question and thankfully his wife was past defiance and was now in the state of being fed up with him. Good, she can sulk all she wants as long as she leaves them be. 

Thea took her leave not caring to spare a glare at either man.

Alone with Callisto after all this time Alvise found himself lacking in words. There was so much he wanted to say yet,..could not.

“I was told my son is here”, Callisto uttered standing stiffly as if fearing his boots would rub dirt into the luscious carpet. Alvise's gaze wandered down to his guest's feet.   
Ahhh.., they were..bare. 

The lord reprimanded himself not to stare.  
“Yes I took him in after I found him beaten on the street”, he explained but earned himself a look of such terror that could only form on a face of a father who loved his child to the exclusion of everything else, “you need not worry, the boy is well now. I had a doctor look him over and all your son requires now is rest.”

Alvise gave the man a reassuring smile but not receiving one in return felt the corners of his lips sagging down. He would have never expected their reunion to be so...difficult.

Callisto clasped his hands behind his back, an unusual gesture for an industrial worker he so sorrowfully resembled. 

“Thank you, Alvise”, he almost whispered and it sounded like his voice broke slightly.

Callisto gazed at him and for a moment Alvise thought he would receive the highest reward- an approving grin, or any warmth from the beautiful eyes for that matter. But no. Callisto dropped his head, an image of misery, “Can I see my son? I would like to take him home.”   
It was a soft plea that made Alvise swallow with difficulty.

“I was hoping we could talk”, the lord suggested shyly but with a encouraging smile. Since there was no reaction from Callisto, he added, “we have not seen each other for years, this is an opportunity to catch up.”

Those words caused his stray looking guest to look at him with a guts-wrenching bottled fury.

“And whose fault is that?”, Callisto sneered. Alvise wanted to protest, to blame his ex-friend, but remained silent, “Do you really want to know how I've been doing?”, his voice was raising sinisterly, making the lord feel uncomfortable in his own house. Callisto spread out his arms, “Isn't it clear? Or maybe you'd like to tell me how you have fared? The contrast is impossible to be omissible. But this isn't the worst thing, you know? I wouldn't trade this life for yours or for any other. I have a wife and two children I love more than anything else in this world. The worst part is that you have betrayed me, Alvise, betrayed me as a friend”, Alvise thought a dagger had just pierced his heart, “I knew people would turn away from me when I would marry Bianca but not in the wildest dreams would I fathom that you would be among them. Can I see my son now.”

Alvise wanted to collapse to his knees but Callisto's glare held him in place. His ex-friend was slightly wrong, though, about what was the worst part of it all- it was that he was right. Alvise deserved every word that jabbed at his soul.

Obediently he took Callisto to his sleeping son. The man scooped the frail figure into his arms sharing the boy’s pain within his own body.

“Thank you for taking care of him, I will pay for any expenses you suffered on his behalf.”

“Please, don't.”

“I will.”

Alvise decided there was no point to argue now, he would simply send the money away when it would arrive.  
Unclenching his throat he decided to ask his lost friend one last thing.

“What is the boys name?”

“Corvo.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Being grounded in his bed was the worst kind of punishment. Corvo's attempts at getting up ended in searing, grunts and moans. He could not exactly remember why his body felt like someone had tried to extract whale oil from it but he wasn't about to give up so easily.

Corvo reckoned it had been several days since he had returned from that calm place back into this agony-filled world. The mugging...that he could remember although without much detail. As much as Corvo wished he could analyse the situation to identify his mistakes and learn from them, he could not get past the blur in his memory. Still, the throbbing that he was now experiencing was more than enough proof that he did not dream the thugs up. The boy concluded that the only lesson he could draw from this was never to venture to that forsaken neighbourhood again.

Filthy adulterer, Corvo was now paying for his crimes, and for his own unaware participation in them.

Forcing left foot to touch the cold floor send a billion of sharp needles up his spine. It would appear that they have mutilated the soles of his feet. Very thoughtful since now he would be unable to perform his delivery services. Corvo was seriously beginning to consider whether he was not being punished for his unruly life. Though short it might have been and despite not considering himself to be a bad person as such, the boy could see that there were many ways in which he could improve. He feared that he could have sinned against the strictures, not that he knew much about those. 

He pushed himself off the bed, more hoping than knowing that his legs could support him. The few days had developed within him a hatred for his innocent bed and another second in it threatened to drive him crazy. It had been...lonely. Corvo did not really have any friends except his sister. He had a tendency of keeping to himself and of keeping his mouth shut. This had spurred rumours that he was actually a mute. He wasn't. Corvo simply didn't see the need to voice his opinions among those who would not understand him. He required time to open up to someone and to let them in on his thoughts. Other kids were simply not patient enough to make the effort of getting to know the quiet boy. They would sooner assume that he was a bore, a mute, or even daft, than discover him to be a child of remarkable intelligence, honesty and passion. As a result, Flavia was his only companion in sickness, except their parents, naturally. The girl had tried to keep him entertained but there was so much she could do. Surely Corvo enjoyed her singing, he was especially fond of her song about a fox which tried to trick a crow, but having his world confined to a small room was a test of patience he could not pass. Curiosity urged him out of the quiet sanctuary.

Oddly, he could also remember having visited paradise in his pain-ridden stupor, or the closest to it he could imagine. Still, he was pretty sure that he hadn't died. It had been a beautiful place of soft pillows, inspiring colourful tapestry, large glass windows, exotic flowers in hand-painted vases and quiet distant music. More surprisingly though his father had been there too. He had been the one who had retrieved Corvo from the dreamy seclusion.

Leaning against the wall for support Corvo limped through the hallway towards the kitchen. The short distance somehow managed to become arduous, like a path through purgatory where the destination was always close and far at the same time and each slightest movement resulted in pain. It had been an unfamiliar female voice that pushed him forward despite the resistance from his body.

“You have a lovely house.”

“Thank you for your visit, we are privileged to have you here”, mother replied but Corvo could sense she wasn't exactly honest in her response. “But I cannot say that I know to what we owe the honour.”

The boy peeked into the kitchen making sure not to make any noise. Blinking away feverish sweat, his gaze focused on the back of mother's head then slid to the stranger. Clearly the woman was a stranger also to their land with her almost white hair which cascaded down slender arms covered by peculiar robes. The pale skin looked even more ghostly against eyes which had both pupils and lenses so light that the woman appeared blind. With the way she stared at nothing in particular the boy guessed she had to be. He relaxed slightly, positive that he would not be spotted.

“I bring the Abby's blessing upon this household”, the odd woman proclaimed raising her arms to indicate the surrounding, “may no dark presence ever taint it with its foulness.”

Corvo's mouth dropped open in awe.

“Thank you, Oracle”, mother uttered quite sheepishly but confirming the boy's suspicion.

An Oracle in their house! This could not be a coincidence, not when he had been musing over what little he knew of the Strictures.

“Our order works fervently for the people of Serkonos”, the Oracle spoke with a warm smile which was however distorted by her dead gaze, “but there is only so much that a handful of women can accomplish, no matter how devoted to the cause of protecting souls from the dark. It is no easy life but it is a life of virtue. We are always happy to see new faces, new girls join this crusade. I hear your daughter may have some talents that would befit an Oracle. I am therefore inclined to offer her the possibility and privilege of becoming a novice.”

Corvo saw mother freeze in her place. He could not envision the possibility of parting with Flavia and obviously neither could she. Giving the girl over to odd women, foreigners at that, was not a decision mother would ever make, or father would approve of. Corvo couldn’t however help but think that maybe it would mean freeing oneself from the shackles of poverty. Who other options were there for Flavia in the future? He dreaded the possible answer.

“No”, mother whispered and the women did not seem to press further.

Mother could have been resolved in her objection but he was not. This could be a chance for Flavia not to fear hunger ever again. He would have to investigate, for her sake.

“I see you have a son as well”, the Oracle eerily muttered sending goose bumps down his spine. How could she claim to see him? She didn't even appear to be looking his way. An arm extended to usher him closer and Corvo could feel mother’s unsure eyes begging him to stay away.

Hesitantly, Corvo approached unable to resist.

The white eyes were now before his face, not gazing at him but piercing into his soul. Suddenly, the woman grabbed his jaw in her bony fingers, bluish lips parting slightly,  
“He is always watching and looking for ways to enter into our hearts, she heaved as her nails traced along the skin of the trembling boy. Mother was too shocked to react, “the Outsider is interested in you, he is interested in all who are good-spirited and pure for he cannot resist the urge to destroy.”

She let go of him returning to her more friendly composure. Corvo backed out to clench to mother's arm.

“We hold sermons to teach people how to live well, to protect the good against agents of the Outsider”, the woman smiled in a way that made her rather young face wrinkle unnaturally, “I invite you to attend.”

She bid them a farewell and left but her presence lingered on Corvo's mind as he lay sleeplessly in his bed. There was something profound about her words that made him endlessly repeat them in his head and ponder them over. He certainly did not want evil to poses his life and he wanted to see whether the Abby was a place for his sister. Perhaps he should attend a sermon. The warning felt real enough to again consider if maybe there was more to his misfortune than merely bad luck.


	6. Chapter 6

It had been several days or perhaps even over a week of an inner conflict that had been waging inside Callisto. There had been moments when he had felt certain that he had given Alvise exactly what he had deserved. Maybe a punch would have settled the score. A part of him had certainly felt the urge to connect his fist with those rosy cheeks. However, a larger portion of Callisto had been simply relieved to find his son alive and cared for. That it had been the pompous traitor who he had once considered a friend was out of this particular equation. 

Callisto’s job was excruciatingly mundane and did not require much mental effort so the man had a lot of time to ponder over all that had happened, both recently and long ago. The position of a worker in a whale oil factory required mostly physical ability and while for Callisto this was an employment below his skills and education, there was not much more he could hope for. No matter how able he might be, socially he was no different than any other average bloke and average blokes worked at the production line not a managerial positions unless they had connections or money. Callisto currently had none. 

It did not inspire that casualties among those at the bottom were not infrequent. Whale oil was an unstable substance that could both provide power to light up a house and to blow you up into smithereens. This month had been good so far, no fatal accidents.

Lift with your legs, Callisto reminded himself as his back protested against carrying another heavy tank of the blue shimmering liquid. There were five more he had to carry to fill up a crate- a task which through its repetitiveness and lack of mental stimulation compelled Callisto to think; think about anything, really, as long as it was not about the lifting, carrying and setting down. Sometimes he would replay in his mind musical pieces that lingered on the edge of conscious thought. Other times he worried about his family and how he was going to maintain it. Now he was coming to a conclusion that he had made a mistake by having treated Alvise like utter garbage. After all, he owed Corvo's life to him. Although Callisto had been deprived of his title and heritage he did not lose his upbringing and his sense of honour. The situation required amending, now he just had to figure out how to fix it.

The former pinnacle of Karnaca's society steadied his grip on another matt-red tank, balancing it with his knee. The consequences of dropping one would be...deadly. Still, Callisto was glad to have found this job. Unemployment in the city was high and there had been many who had applied for this position. Callisto had one advantage over them- he was a smooth talker. That was mostly what nobility did, they talked and they trained in the art of rhetoric to master speech. The employer had been faced with quite an obvious choice- enrol a man who had charmed him with his presentation, or delinquents whose inability to form a coherent sentence would make him shutter at the way they had tortured they mother tongue. 

Callisto had never thought that the transition would be easy. It had been a high fall from a privileged lord to an impoverished industrial worker. Nevertheless, he had managed to get his bearings in the new situation. Other men would treat him as an equal and were friendly enough for Callisto to grow accustomed to working with them. While he supposed that they might not know who he was since common men did not waste their time with high-born affairs and gossip, his boss, as a man of higher standing, was more up to date with the drama from the top of the societal ladder. Mr Derrio was demanding but fair and had never taken the liberty of offending Callisto. There were, however, people of less consideration and harbouring hatred towards the aristocracy, who made the most of the chance to get at a fallen one. As if it was Callisto who was the source of their misery.

A clap to the back startled him and he almost let go of the unstable substance. Nico, a man who looked like he could take on four armed assailants yet was the impersonation of gentleness, passed him carrying a crate. How on earth he had managed to smack Callisto with both his hands busy was wondrous. Nico was not the brightest individual but he had a kind heart and the former lord had quickly become friends with him.

The mountain of a man grinned at him,  
“Wake up, Call, or you're gonna drop that damn oil and send this whole damn factory flying to Gristol.”

Callisto decided against informing his friend that it was the smack to the back that had almost caused the despicable scenario. Instead he put on a dreamy look and sighed,

“It would be nice to visit Dunwall. I always wanted to see the Tower, shame it’s so far off and only blowing the factory up could get me there.”

Incredible how effortlessly Nico held the enormous crate.

“Damn shame but I'd rather stay here, on Serkonos, thank you very much. I wouldn't like to freeze to death.”

Callisto huffed rolling his eyes,

“It’s not Tyvia, so you’d have to try very hard to freeze. Running around in run in only your underwear, for example.”

“Whatever”, Nico murmured, annoyed at having his geographical errors pointed out at him so he changed the subject, “How is Corvo?”

Callisto carefully set down the tank, his arms already sore, but Nico still firmly held the load,  
“Much better, thanks. He is going out again. I think it’s too soon, the wounds haven't healed yet properly, but I'm not going to lock him in the house, you know?... If I ever get my hands on whoever hurt him...they would come to regret it.”

Nico laughed, a deep reverberating noise,  
“You would have to leave some of those damn dupes for me.”

Yes, Nico was gentle, as long as he wasn't hit in the face with injustice.  
“You're up for some whiskey and cigars after work?”, his friend's ability to quickly switch from the subject of beating someone up to colleague integration made Callisto smirk.

“I can't, I have to visit the man who helped Corvo and thank him properly.”

Nico finally set the crate down, a deep wrinkle appearing on his forehead. That was a sign that the man was considering something using all his brain power.

“That's odd”, he plainly commented, the wrinkled not quite disappearing.

“What is?

“That you would wait so long to thank him.”  
The big man was right, it wasn't Callisto's usual way of conduct. However, the former lord had his reasons which he couldn't share with his friend. It would rather confuse him more rather than clarify anything.

“I am looking for a appropriate gift to give him.” Callisto simply retorted. In truth he did not know how to go about this. There was nothing of value he could give to Alvise that the lord didn’t have already, not that he had the money to buy anything suitable. Maybe if he-,

“Look at you two babbling like newlyweds”, it was their boss, Derrio, and he was not pleased to see their employees slacking off.

Nico abruptly scooted away murmuring a 'sorry sir' which only got him an angry huff in response. Callisto, too, tried to get out of Mr Derrio's way, not to give the man, who was known for his lack of tolerance, any more reasons for resentment. To his dread he was stopped mid step by a,  
“You wait a moment kid.”

Callisto, with his back to the employer, shut his eyes and soundlessly uttered the worst curse he could think of. Turning around to face what had to be his soon-to-be unemployment he put up a smile which soon washed away upon seeing the sombre man in his late 50s. He was plump with a protruding belly, overall looking both rough and trusty at the same time. 

“How long have you been working here, Attano?”, Derrio mumbled sliding thumbs under his suspenders. They looked like they might give up any moment. 

“Ten years, sir”, Callisto did not like where this was going.

The boss pursed his lips nodding his head repeatedly. The former lord stretched his arms, suddenly feeling unnaturally cramped in his own body. He wouldn't give this job up without a fight. It was so hot in the scarcely lit warehouse that sweat evaporated off his skin right before his eyes.

“You have always been a trustworthy worker and I realize it hasn’t been easy for you. Also, I hear you had recently problems at home”, Derrio smiled in an almost untraceable way, “which is why I can offer you some extra responsibilities for an extra coin. I know you are the man for the job. It’s mostly delivery, I am currently looking for a new transport contractor so before I find one I figured you may like the opportunity.”

Callisto squeezed his hand eagerly. Perhaps his luck was turning, finally.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The monotonous chant kept reverberating through his mind. Corvo found that hum which had accompanied the sermon he had just attended oddly comforting. The neat building of cold stone had gathered a significant number of people, all eager to her the words of the Oracle. The woman, looking much like her sister who had visited the Attanos in their home, had lectured the crowd on the third stricture.

"Restrict the Restless Hands, which quickly become the workmates of the Outsider. Unfettered by honest labour, they rush to sordid gain, vain pursuits, and deeds of violence. Of what value are the hands that steal and kill and destroy? Instead, put your hands to the plow, the fork, and the spade. For even the lowliest labour that is rigorous squeezes the muscles as a sponge, rinsing impurities from the mind and body."

Corvo found the words deeply inspiring although he wasn't exactly sure why. The part that he did understand was the 'steal and kill and destroy' passage. He had been mugged, almost killed and his body was still not entirely healed. No other words could have had more meaning to him now, so profoundly relevant to his situation. Corvo had felt the evil those three actions entailed and the boy did not harbour any doubts as to the wisdom the Oracle's words conveyed. The robbers had acted on the behalf of the Outsider and Corvo had heard enough to grasp that the being was a trickster that no good person should ever have any dealings with. 

Walking was still quite a difficult task but rotting at home was more arduous. Maybe he could find a quit job that could earn him a dinner. Yet he couldn't much concentrate on seeking out a client for his thoughts kept returning to the misty eyes of the Oracle. These women were truly attempting to bring out what was best in people. If everyone would hear out their message there wouldn't be delinquents as Gob, the winking adulterer or thugs beating up children for money. Corvo wondered about how much good Flavia could accomplish as an Oracle. It would be an honour to have his sister assist in an undertaking which intention was to lead Serkonos into a bright future, especially since his home Isle was negotiating accession into a union with Gristol, as his father had told him. Maybe he himself could aid that noble work by becoming an Overseer. Maybe that would protect other children from meeting his and worse fate.

A red apple tumbling before his feet riveted his attention. Corvo picked it up, briefly acknowledging that it looked much better than any apple he had ever tasted, the way it glimmer in the hot Serkonan sun. His gaze followed the fruit's trail to find a middle-aged plump woman frantically attempting to collect her scattered groceries. Although the market place was filled with people no one even spared a glace towards the unfortunate servant she appeared to be, not to mention that not a soul decided to aid her in her hunt for supplies escaping her basket.

Corvo, collecting other fruit as he approach the woman, listened to her self-accusing babbling as she was stuffing purchases back where they belong,

“Clumsy and stupid”, she huffed, not noticing the slender boy awkwardly standing before her, “that's what Madam always says to you, Gillie, clumsy and stupid.”

The woman reminded Corvo of an aunt he always wanted to have, someone of a warm heart, broad smile and soft chubby arms that would embrace with the utmost affection.

“Let me help you, Ms”, the boy offered placing what he had gathered in her basket. The woman flinched slightly not having realized that he was there but she composed herself and sighed with relief.

“Thank you so much, young gentleman”, Gillie sent him a grateful smile. Corvo was now convinced that he liked this impersonation of clumsiness and warmth.

“My pleasure, Ms”, Corvo grinned back, packing the last item and lifting the heavy basket. No wonder the woman had dropped it.

“Gillie”, she corrected him, implying that she wished for him to use her first name.

“Pleased to meet you, Gillie, I'm Corvo.”

Gillie looked over the youngster before her, tilting her head in examination and wonder at the ease with which he lifted the cursed groceries.

“Say, Corvo, you wouldn't be looking for some extra coin, would you?”, seeing she had his full attention and consent glimmering in dark brown eyes which made her think of another pair she hadn't seen for many years, she clarified, “I could use some help with getting these home.”

Corvo had found his client it seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote from the Strictures taken from Dishonored


	7. Chapter 7

The list of names and addresses, scribbled on a stained yellow piece of paper with a hardly legible handwriting, was not as long as Callisto had anticipated. Pulling a wobbly cart stacked with the red tanks of blue gold, he had been delivering whale oil to several institutions, including the Karnaca's city guard headquarters, and half a dozen noble houses. His arms were already sore when he arrived at one of the last destinations. The mansion of Lord Pauletto.

Callisto wiped away sweat from his thick brow, and unbuttoned his shirt to get more air. He tugged at the material to un-stick it from his back. The precious little he could do to cool his strained muscles brought exasperation. A huff escaped his dry lips as he mused over how fate brought him back here. Callisto was a man who respected coincidences. 

This was his chance to make things right, maybe the last chance. The last address hovered at the back of his mind like an insistent insect.

The guards let him through, into the premises, yet he could feel their suspicious glares as he dragged his cart up the cobbled path, towards the grand wooden doors. Callisto promised himself that he wouldn't let the mansion intimidate him, even though his physical appearance could have been considered offensive. The man wrinkled his nose against the sweet odour of his own sweat but there was no way to remedy that other than a bath and clean clothes. Dark greasy stains on his shirt, nauseatingly sticky, reminded him of the lowly creature he had become, unfit to enter a house that his mere presence would taint. There was a time when he had been used to such grandeur, now he deemed it an unnecessary whim. 

Still, Callisto could not deny the beauty of the neatly trimmed bushes adorned with blooming crimson roses, lining the path to the mansion. Their heavy scent did not entirely manage to mask his own unpleasant smell. 

A golden bell chimed dully and soon the doors swung open, creaking mercilessly. A grim butler stared unfavourably at the intruder. 

“Yes?”, he sighed rudely with a disinterested aura about him. The former lord squinted slightly thinking that if it was up to him, this haughty man would already be unemployed. Callisto, however, was at work himself and so he maintained a friendly facade, since that was what his boss would expect,

“I have a delivery of whale oil”, he announced moving aside to let the butler see the red tanks, hoping that would easy his composure.   
The man eyed them, wrinkling his nose, surely sensing the repulsive smell.

“Splendid”, there was no enthusiasm in his voice, but his brows drew down to an extent that they formed a bridge over his hooked nose, “bring them to the kitchen Mr Attano.”

The image of the butler's smug expression fixed in Callisto's memory as the man stepped inside to make way for the former lord. He knew very well that it was not part of the deal, still, he was going to exploit the situation, whatever sick pleasure it brought him. For his employers he was surely honey sweet and obedient. 

Callisto cast him a silent glare as he passed the man in the door frame into the pleasantly cool hallway. Seeing the man’s satisfaction, the former lord couldn't help but feign losing his grip on the oil. It had the intended effect- the butler now looked anxious and less sure of himself, pale and with a twitching brow.

Callisto, hauling the heavy tank, ventured into an empty kitchen filled with the aroma of frying fish. It required a collective effort of his willpower to remain composed. Dealing with such haughty socially superior individuals was part of the job. As if having to relive past memories by being in a house where he had spend so much time as a child wasn't making him edgy enough. It was disheartening that being a grown man, in the society's eyes, he presented less value than when he had been a child.

More so, the unfinished dinner reminded him that he hadn't yet had a proper meal that day. His stomach grumbled angrily but the former lord ignored its insistence.

Quiet footsteps sounded on the tile floor and Callisto grimaced thinking that the butler had come to oversee him, to make sure he would not steal any food. Turning around with a sigh and a snappy remark forming on his lips, he almost chocked on a sharp gasp as he saw a boy of about 14, gazing at him with the utmost interest. Dressed like a little prince, in sandy shorts and shirt of the finest fabric, he tapped his fingers against thighs. Callisto distantly thought that on Corvo such an attire would not remain clean for long. 

The boy finally clasped his hands before himself, not a very child-like gestured, and smiled sincerely at the stranger.

“Hello”, he greeted Callisto with a voice which still had a feminine edge to it, something a boy of his age should be rid of already.

Shaking off the initial surprise, Callisto smiled back, though a bit sheepishly.   
“Hi.”

He had not anticipated having to deal with Alvise's son and was not prepared for such an interaction, feeling himself lost for words. Last time he had seen the boy he was still a newborn with a sickly pale carnation that had not matured into a healthy light tan skin colour.

“My name is Rocco Pauletto, son of lord Alvise Pauletto”, Rocco introduced himself, reaching out his hand in greeting.

Callisto managed to contain his eyebrows from shooting up in surprise. This young man, who could only be expected to be a spoiled and pompous brat, was as humble in speaking with an industrial worker found in his kitchen as he would be speaking to a lord. Callisto quickly wiped his palms clean against his trousers, trying to remove the sticky grease, before gripping the offered hand, small and gentile in his own calloused and burnt in places.

“I'm Callisto...Attano”, he responded still gazing in wonder at the boy who furrowed his brow in thought.

“Attano? I know lord and lady Attano. Are you related to them?”

“Not really.”

Rocco glanced past Callisto at the red tank, apparently satisfied by his elusive answer and the former lord was glad not to dwell on it,

“That is whale oil, is it not? I have been reading a lot about it. Did you know it was invented by Esmond Roseburrow? It is mainly used for light but just think of all the other uses it could have! We could mechanise production and be a thousand times more efficient! It would be a new era of industry for Serkonos and the other Isles.”

The boy hunched over, examining the oil, its blue glow reflecting in his passionate eyes. Such a bright mind in such a young age.

“I can see the benefits that this new era could bring”, Callisto said softly, kneeling before Rocco to better see his face, “but think about the costs and the possible damage.”

The boy rubbed his hands together, balancing forth and back on his feet,

“My business would operate under strict limits of pollution and dispose of waste properly while rewarding the labourers with honest pay.”

Rocco was no doubt full of surprises, an idealist still not corrupted by the reality, a jewel amongst stench and rot.

“In this case I will come by looking for work.”

“And I look forward to employing you, Mr Attano.”

Callisto nodded his head with a smile, though inside he felt anxious. A sudden realization struck him. When this boys grows up he will have all the resources needed to shape his ideas into reality. A seed of promise was waiting for the time to flourish, to sprout. Callisto felt his throat tightening, seeing an almost mirror resemblance to himself. Had he forfeited his own destiny? Rarely did he consider the what-ifs of his decision to marry Bianca, but what if he hadn't done it? He would be Lord Attano now, he would have a fortune at his beckoning call, a wife picked by his parents for her pedigree, children who would not know hunger and maybe he would be happy... Maybe... Still, he wouldn't have Bianca, or Flavia, or Corvo and he doubted he could be happy without them.

“Rocco!”, a voice, which Callisto instantly recognized, called from down the hall.

The boy straightened, hesitantly averting his gaze from the red tank.

“That's my father”, Rocco explained not knowing that Callisto did not need the clarification, “come, you'll meet him.”

The former lord led by the young Pauletto concealed his amusement imagining the dread most labourers had to experience upon meeting Rocco. They could all be equal in the boy's eyes but the master of the house could not be that liberal. Of course, Callisto's situation was quite different when it came to Alvise.

Their footsteps were muffled by thick carpets that hopefully did not collect dirt from his worn out work shoes. They passed an oil painting of Cullero and another one of a ship at high seas, images he recognized from his once frequent visits. There was no time to reminisce for they stumbled upon the master of house himself.

Alvise's eyes went wide open and Callisto was not sure whether the man was happy to see him or not. The former lord tried to form a reassuring smile on his face but feared he might have looked like he had just eaten something sour instead.

“Rocco, your tutor is waiting for you”, Alvise, his gaze fixed on the industrial worker, managed to find his words and send his son away, despite multiple protests from the boy.

Alone in the hallway, Callisto feared he would break inside. He wanted to hate Alvise, he believed he had every right to. Above the thumping of his own exhausted heart he realized that he couldn't.

“I'm sorry”, Callisto whispered, barely strong to speak. Tears stung his eyes, finally set free after years of suppression. Alvise had done him wrong but the former lord himself was not without blame. His guilt was the result of having harboured a fiery hatred for a friend, stupid and misguided noble but, nevertheless, a friend.

Alvise marched towards him and enveloped the former lord in an almost violent embrace, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He hid his face in Callisto's shoulder, wiping away his friend's tears against thick hair.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I probably shouldn't be telling you this”, Gillie thought out loud but Corvo knew she would anyway, that was how far her restraints went. During their way to the estate district she had rarely kept silent, maybe because normally no one listened to her. It wasn't really gossip since she intended no harm, still, her babbling seemed to have a life of its own. Not that it bothered Corvo. He rather had others talk than be forced into talking himself.

“There was an enormous scandal in the family I work for”, Gillie seemed slightly hesitant which caught Corvo's attention. He only hoped they were close to their destination due to his wounds calling out and the basket not getting any lighter. “My lady had two sons. The older was a true blessing, not only handsome but terribly intelligent. His lordship would always say that the boy would multiply the family fortune a hundred times over. The younger one did not hold such a promise. He valued parties and entertainment over ambition.”

Corvo wondered whether the younger brother wasn't just a typical noble.

“Unfortunately, misfortune fell upon the family. The older boy's friend married, to his lordship’s relief, since he feared that something more than just friendship bonded them, and he presented his first-born with a hand-picked fiancée, a lady with a name and money. Imagine his lordship's fury when his son refused to marry the lady and informed him that he was in love with someone else.”

It undoubtedly required a lot of courage to take a stand against such a father. Placing the child's happiness at the forefront was not, sadly, the most popular parental way of conduct, especially among the nobles. Corvo thanked good fortune for his own loving father at the same time pitying the son of Gillie’s employer.

Gillie found it harder to talk. She fidgeted with a scarf that loosely hang over her shoulders as if looking for words in-between its folds. Finally, with a long hollow sigh she continued,

“He married a servant girl. For the parents it was neither acceptable nor forgivable. So they killed him...he may be still alive, somewhere in a gutter, but as far as society is concerned, he is dead.”

Corvo averted his gaze from his aching feet, covered in dust and Outsider knows what more, and glance sideways at the plump woman. Joviality abandoned her expression entirely, replacing it with heart break, a deep wrinkle cutting her forehead. She had no doubt loved the son who had rebelled against his parents. In some ways, Gillie had loved him more than they had.

“They never contacted each other again?”, Corvo dared to ask, caught up in the tragic story, feeling a peculiar bond to its protagonist.

“He tried. He came to tell them that they have a grandchild. They refused to listen. So he left and I haven't seen him since.”

These people had to be some cold-hearted bastards. What kind of parents would treat their child this way? Corvo almost shivered with dread at the idea of having his own parents turn away from him as a punishment for doing something he believed to be right. 

No. He couldn't imagine that. 

A grand mansion grew before their eyes as they walked the meandering road. Corvo doubted he had ever seen anything of such magnificence. At least four floors high and who knows how many rooms wide, it blinded anyone bold enough to gaze upon it with the way the tin roof reflected the sharp rays of Serkonan sun. The plastered walls were the kind of white that Corvo imagined snow had to be, although he had never really seen it. Where he lived, anything that had once been white was soot-gray from the industrial operations happening up-wind. However, the air here was remarkably fresh, carrying the salty smell of the sea.

As they got closer, the villa only grew larger and Corvo found it hard to believe that it housed only one family. He was sure that at least fifty families with twice as many children could make a comfortable living there. It seemed like a terrible waste of space. 

The boy was even more surprised to discover that the premises were guarded by heavily armed men, tougher looking than a typical toothless mercenary one could find at the docks. Their dark stares made him anything but secure, however Gillie’s reassuring hand on his shoulder nudged him forward. In their neat yellow uniforms they looked like a small army, thankfully in no mind to conduct a war against a ragged-looking boy. 

Shadowed by tall palm trees, resembling a tropical forest but much more organized in their pattern, Corvo stepped into the even larger shadow cast by the dream-like mansion. The job was almost done.


	8. Chapter 8

Callisto felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his sagging shoulders. Having had suppressed thoughts of his friend he hadn't even realized how deep this thorn had dug into his flesh. Now he was free of it and suddenly he no longer considered himself to be a lowly labourer to be exploited, no longer dirt under the boots of his former equals. He was his old self, sure of his own worth. 

There was, however, one last delivery to be made and Callisto feared, with a gut wrenching premonition, that it could be the end of his newly recovered strength. The cart was now light, jumping on the outcroppings in the unevenly paved road as he pulled it. The only resistance he experienced came from within.

The last address was that of Lord and Lady Attano. 

Callisto pushed forward despite the voice screaming inside of his head to turn back, to dump the whale oil and be done with this job. He had attempted to reconcile with his parents before but neither his mother nor his father had been willing to recognize the simple truth of his existence. Callisto was not going to delude himself their attitude towards him had miraculously changed, other than that they surely had grown even more sour. It hurt to comprehend this simple fact, a dull ache deep in his soul, to have his kin sever all ties with him. Callisto could withstand the abasement on behalf of all petty nobles, but not his parents. That he could not simply shrug off, it cut too deeply and with too much precision.

His old house appeared before him, rising above all other buildings in the area, but he refused to look at it. Callisto kept his eyes focused on the road before him and the mansion was only a blur in his peripheral vision. Had it always been this enormous? Without his presence in the house the remaining few inhabitants were probably going on for days without seeing each other. There was surely enough empty space to grant them the sorrowful extravagance. 

Glancing up to see where the road was taking him, Callisto spotted the tall metal gate into the premises. If anyone would try to climb over its sharp spikes awaited at the top. When he had been little he had thought they were intended to keep him contained within the grounds of the mansion. Now, they were keeping him out. 

The gate was only a minor and a rather hypothetical obstacle. The real threat came from the guards, looking like a mob of angry bees in their yellow uniforms. There was no doubt that their stings would be severe. Callisto only hoped that they had not been hired with the intention of guarding the mansion against the return of the prodigal son. Then again, if he truly was prodigal, in the conventional sense, wasting money and time, his parents would be willing to accept that. Yet, in their view, he had wasted all that had been invested in him by rejecting a bright future that had awaited him.

Callisto reached for a cap which he held stashed in his back pocket and arranged it on his head. It was old and tattered, its checkered pattern worn out to the extent that it was barely visible. The cap cast a shadow across Callisto's face and concealed his features. 

The guards straightened upon seeing him, hands loosely wandering in the direction of their weapons. The swords which hang at their hips were clearly pride of their masters, polished so that Callisto could see his own ragged reflection in them, none of his inner storm projecting into his posture. On the outside he appeared calm, if maybe slightly out of sorts after a day of strenuous manual labour. The truth was he felt as though his insides might decide to take an early departure, nauseatingly twisting in his lower abdomen. Deeper breaths did little to steady his pounding heart and racing thoughts. He should have not come here. The past forcing itself upon him in the present bore a sickly sweet taste in his mouth. 

One of the guards, a captain judging from the elaborate star emblem sawn into his vest, blocked Callisto's way and towered over him with his bulging mass.

“State your business”, he mumbled with a deep rough voice, his breath carrying the aroma of stale whiskey. 

The question was absurd and Callisto stared into the captain's eyes, which appeared to be slightly too far apart, unsure whether he was really expected to answer. For a man pulling a cart of whale oil tanks there was only one business. He decided it would not be wise to point out the guard’s ignorance. Men granted by fate with strength and by their benefactors with weapons but not having much intelligence bestowed upon them had to be reckoned with. They easily succumbed to rage, kindled by any number of minor remarks, being shown their ignorance ranking high among those. 

Callisto took a deep breath, lowering his head slightly, wishing rather to appear obedient   
than provocative. There was truly little reason to get into an argument with the men guarding his old house.

“I'm here to deliver these tanks, as ordered”, Callisto finally replied trying to soften the captain’s grudge with a warm smile. While his charm usually worked to his advantage, especially with his wife whenever she would disapprovingly glare at him, it left the guard unimpressed. Of course...why would he, a man of such importance and respect, return pleasantries of a simple worker. Nevertheless, he moved to the side, letting Callisto into the premises, but not forgetting to grunt threateningly upon the smaller man's passage. The former lord merely rolled his eyes, unimpressed by the bold display of manhood, dragging his trusted cart into the shadow of clustering palm trees. 

Callisto wondered how many gardeners his parents had to employ to tend to this artificial rainforest. The climate of Serkonos was perhaps hot enough to sustain the exotic flora which Lord and Lady Attano clearly found, in their extravagance, to be suitable. However, the dry winds and poor soil would naturally prevent these enormous palms and bushes with leaves the size of boats, along with the aromatic bright flowers, from growing. To adhere to the requests of the wealthy sponsors, the gardeners had to create the right conditions for growth, wasting gallons upon gallons of fresh water to engineer the humid micro-climate. Labouring to breathe against this humidity, Callisto mused over the futility of the grand undertaking. Money flowed to sustained life artificially introduced rather than to support those native who toiled against shackling poverty. 

The humidity and stillness felt like the garden was dense with suspense. Callisto exhaled slowly, pushing forward against the invisible restrains, the anxiety trapped in the air adding to his own. His head shielded by the cap began to itch profusely in the dampness and as his hand wandered up to relieve him with scratching, the former lord realized that his hair was slick with sweat. 

Moisture liquefied against dark green leaves shaped like umbrellas, running down their veins in rivulets and glistening like quicksilver. There was a charm to the place, this Callisto could not deny.

Finally reaching the door, feeling foolish to have to wait for someone to let him in and reminding him that he was a stranger in his own home, Callisto kept obsessively readjusting the cap so that it would conceal his features. In an act of final desperation driven by fear of being recognized, he rubbed his face against the sleeve of his shirt, getting some of that grease onto his skin. The sticky substance burned his eyes, causing tears to well up in their corners. Callisto was already humiliated enough.

The doors opened after a good long while and a short plump woman appeared in them, a red shawl wrapped around her broad shoulders concealing a simple dress underneath it. She smiled at him, broadly and honestly, her chubby cheeks lifting, forming wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. Callisto stiffened his face against the grin that tried to force itself upon his lips, wondering whether there was a single person for whom Gillie would not have a kind word. He resisted the urge to embrace his old nanny. 

“What can I do for you, sir?”, she asked, the smile not fading away. 

Gillie did not recognize him. The respect in her words was not aimed at him as the former lord, but as another human being. It was a simple gesture but uncommon. How could she recognize him? There was a striking lack of resemblance between the well-dressed young man and a physical labourer, dirty and worn out, who stood before her.

Keeping his mouth shut lest his voice would give him away, Callisto gestured at his delivery. Gillie followed his silent lead and seeing the gleaming whale oil, nodded her head.

“Thank you, sir. Would you be so kind and carry the tanks to the kitchen? My back is not what it used to be and I fear I could drop it.”

Callisto nodded his consent and Gillie’s beam widened, if it was possible.

“Bless you, young man. The kitchen is just down the hall, I will be with you in a minute.”  
She rushed away leaving Callisto to the arduous task of stepping into his house.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Atop the tall leather-bound stool, Corvo had an extensive view across the silent kitchen, steamy and damp yet oddly cooled by the dull luminescence of overhead bulbs. Kicking the air with his bare feet he licked away the icing that had stuck to his fingers. Sadly, the sweet roll Gillie had given him was now just a memory and the rumbling of his content stomach. 

She had said that she will return shortly but it seemed that the servant had forgotten about the boy left alone in the impressively equipped kitchen. 

Corvo waited, taking in the sights and smells. The rich aromas escaping shiny metal pots encouraged him peek inside. Half a dozen Serkonan sausages were cooling off, alongside neatly chopped carrots. The expensively looking countertops of dark wood, possibly oak, were all stashed with food supplies. There had to be a bigger variety of products than in the market, they certainly looked more fresh. Round cheeses, ranging in colour from yellow to white, all the shades in between included; intensively smelling fish, covered with ice, piled atop one another with hagfish forming the base of the pyramid; baskets of sweat luscious pears, apples, grapes... Crates of lovely red tomatoes... Corvo decided he did not wish to look at this abundance, feeling an empty sucking in his lower abdomen.

He left the kitchen and entered a long electrically lit hallway, intending to find Gillie within this maze of luxury and be on his way home. 

The thick carpet lining the corridor felt soft and soothing against his feet while multiple paintings bound in gold-gleaming frames ornamenting the panelled wall fought to steal his attention. Images of an idyllic Serkonan countryside where children played in high grasses, verdure and pristine, were replaced by closely huddling brick buildings of Cullero. On another canvas Corvo spotted a magnificent whale emerging from dark waters of a stormy sea. With a finger he gently traced the bending waves, feeling the texture and the layers of paint. His gaze wandered further down, to the bottom corner where the sea was more calm and where the author's signature branded the artwork.

While Corvo could not read he recognized the name scribbled before him, for it was his own name. Attano. 

What was even more astonishing was the first name initial- C.

Father had never said they had a painter in the family but then again he rarely talked about his relatives and what little Corvo had heard was vague. Maybe they were all dead and that was why his parents avoided the topic. Corvo sighed, lightly tapping his own name on the canvas. Shame, he wished he could meet the author of such a marvellous artwork.

Suddenly remembering that he was a guest in someone's house, he stepped away from the painting, stiffly placing his arms at his sides. Hastily, the boy glanced around. 

The hallway remained empty, with no one to reprimand him on his rude behaviour. Dust particles slowly floated in the air, well visible in the glow of lamps. Corvo imagined that this was what snow had to look like, swirling on a windless day. 

Breaking the steady pattern of their flow, Corvo proceeded down the hall, making sure he would not bump into any stands or cabinets of polished wood. He had to find Gillie before someone would accuse him of trespassing.

Hearing voices from beyond an open double door of stained glass images forming colourful wildflowers, Corvo slid his head inside, hoping that it was the chubby servant he was looking for.

It was. 

That was, however, all the luck he had.


	9. Chapter 9

The room was some sort of a vast sitting area, with tall armchairs and sofas circled around a stone-chiselled fireplace. Its sole purpose had to be to boil people alive for in none of the thirteen months of the year would one need to resort to heating their house with a fire. Yet, a shy flame was kindling, enveloping in a warm glow the outlines of three women positioned comfortably on the sofas. Gillie stood beside them, serving tea into miniature pearl cups. Rivulets of sweat ran down the poor servant's forehead, the heat of the nearby fire gnawing at her.

“Remain here, Gillie, lest we require anything else”, a clear but icy voice of one of the women, all that was visible of her was the tip of her peculiar hairdo, commanded. Corvo guessed he had found the lady of the house. 

Aligning his footsteps with the ticking of a monumental long case clock, the pendulum reflecting the light of the distant flame, Corvo crept into the room. He was hoping to catch Gillie's attention, since he needed for her to escort him out of the mansion. The guards outside had not been friendly to begin with and they could lose whatever shreds of friendliness they had upon seeing a stray boy within the premises. Better avoid trouble altogether, his previous experience had thought him that much. 

Pulse pounded in his ears at a sickening pace, suddenly feeling himself like an unwanted intruder, sneaking in the shadows. Corvo desperately drilled the back of Gillie's head with his eyes but to no avail. The woman stood attentively by her employer, attempting to look as if she was not eavesdropping on the conversation of her superiors, completely oblivious to the boy summoning her wordlessly from across the room.

Corvo held his breath when all fell dead silent as the women sipped their tea, cups clattering softly.

Greying hair atop the mistress' head glistened as she shook irritably before speaking in the most posh manner imaginable, altogether worse by a nasal tone of her voice,

"I tell you, ladies, that son of mine will be the death of me. Who Alfeo takes after is a mystery."

Her party guests all expressed their sympathy by gasps and incessant babbling while Corvo, shrouded by the long shadows cast by furniture, continued moving towards Gillie, hoping to finally gain her attention if he got closer.

"Frankly, I do not care how he indulges himself in his free time", the lady, who had to be of an advanced aged judging from what little of her Corvo could see, continued complaining, "but I expect that he keeps up respectable appearances, our name has suffered enough. All I ask of him is to marry a girl from a renown family and to sire an heir. I could not rest knowing that our fortune would be lost because of his inability to do this one simple thing!"

She sighed profusely, filling that puff with all her frustration. Her friends were reluctant to say anything, nodding their heads in undying agreement. Finally, one of them uttered shyly and with earnest sorrow,

"It is a shame that-" the ending of the sentence was lost to the crackling of the fire, nevertheless, earned her incredulous looks from other women.

Corvo impatiently waited for them to continue their conversation, intending to mask any noise he would make with their raised haggling voices. Distantly he remembered Gillie's story, realizing with dread that this woman was the same one who had cast her first born son away because he had married a girl from a lower social class. Instantly, Corvo disliked the woman even more, while her manner of speaking had already made him edgy about her. She was the engineer of her own problems, surely already having that desired heir but failing to accept his existence, choosing rather to complain about her second son whose only mistake was that he did not follow in his brother's footsteps. 

"This must be upsetting to you, Mara, dear. Tell us about something else so that you may forget about your son's disobedience. Tell us about this treaty we might be signing with Gristol."

Lady Mara huffed, dangerously tilting her head to the side and forcing Corvo to cringe with fear of being spotted.

"Does your husband keep information from you, my dear? You have never been one for politics, why the sudden change?"

"Oh he talks, I just barely understand what he is saying. I gather it is important, therefore, I ask you. When I ask my husband he simply retorts with a smile that politics is not for women."

They burst out in a gleeful laughter as if it was the best joke they had ever heard. Maybe it just wasn't for those who didn't understand it and chose to laugh at their own ignorance; assigning a gender relation to it seemed, in the least, misleading.

"You know what I always say," lady Mara brought the hollow chiming to a halt, "I run the household, while my husband runs the country...along with the Duke and a few other nobles."

She earned herself approving nods and it became clear that she was treated as an oracle, of sorts, in her own domain. Whatever words left her mouth, they were to be taken as solid gold and relished. Hopefully no one asked her for parenting advice but Corvo was inclined to believe otherwise, dreading the fate of the children raised in accordance with lady Mara's wisdom. 

"I do not know exactly how that is to be organized. Seems like a lot of paperwork and bureaucracy to have Serkonos join the Empire of the Isles. Furthermore, how efficient can central governing be if it is to be conducted from Gristol? I do not question Emperor Euhorn Kaldwin's aptitude but he can hardly know what is best for us while residing cosily in Dunwall Tower. We must be able to send our own representatives to the Parliament in Dunwall if we want any tangible benefits... Well at least the Gristol navy would aid us in tackling the problem of those dreadful pirates in the archipelago. I cannot even tell you how much money my family lost because of those ruffians."

Corvo was disinterested in whatever the lady had to say, especially if it concerned politics. In a sense, as a son of a factory worker, he was glad he would never have to immerse himself in the futility of power games. The boy could not care less if Serkonos joined Gristol, it would not have any direct effect on him. Nobility was always the same, whether it came from Karnaca or from Dunwall was meaningless. Whichever ruled, would rule the same, as far as those at the bottom of the societal ladder were concerned. The people like lady Mara and her husband would always be the ones with the money and the influence while the people like Corvo's father would always be the ones to devote their life to straining physical work while never earning more than to simply get by. But life should be more than just getting by.

Pushing the needless discourses out of his mind, Corvo crouched behind lady Mara's maroon plush armchair, matching the colour of stale wine. So dangerously close to her he could hear the raspy breaths she took when occasionally pausing her speech for air. 

Gillie was finally within his reach. Were he not nervous with anxiety he would be furious with this time consuming paper chase. Pursing his lips, Corvo wrapped his slender fingers in the hems of Gillie's heavy skirts. He looked up and beyond her double chin he saw her gaze fixed on her mistress, forgetting that she should maintain a facade of ignorance. Corvo tugged lightly, staring at the woman with what intensity he could muster, but his insistence went unnoticed. With no other option at his disposal, the boy decided to give the stubborn woman a firm nudge.

It did not have the intended result.

Gillie, mortified, almost chocked on her breath, turning unnervingly red on her face, and dropped the silver tray with a fine porcelain teapot she had been holding. As the delicate container was reduced to numerous shards, scattering in all directions, the hot liquid splashed against the nearby women to what they reacted with shrills of anguish and displeasure.

They rose from their seats, directing their furious glares first at Gillie, but seeing the ragged boy who as they realized was the cause of their distress, an intruder at that, directed all their heated rage at his skulking form.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Callisto had heard the piercing sound of breaking glass he had almost dropped the last damned whale oil tank he had been hauling over his shoulder. The following shrieks which became angry yells ushered him to abandon his delivery and investigate the trouble, recognizing the unmistakable shouts of his stubborn, narrow-minded mother. Callisto despised the way she treated him, as though he was a nobody, as if marrying a woman from a lower social class could erase his humanity. He could, however, rise above such petty quarrels given that she was in danger.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Lady Mara suddenly seemed to be lacking in her noble bearing when she raised a walking stick, firmly gripping its metal handle, and smacked with it the terrified boy.

“Dirty little thief!”, she mumbled aiming at Corvo's hands. He managed to yank them back just in time and the blow fell upon his arm. Wincing in pain he was surprised that the frail looking lady had so much resolve and strength, the only problem being that he was at the receiving end of it.

“Disgusting scoundrels! Getting younger and brasher! At this rate soon there won't be anything else to steal but our lives!”, she attempted to underline each venomous word with a smack of her walking stick but to her annoyance the boy managed to dodge most of them, falling back and crawling away. 

“Madame, please this is a misunderstanding”, Corvo tried to calm the woman down, knowing it was futile, “I am no thief.”

That seemed to only make her angrier and her aim steadier. A heavy blow fell upon Corvo's head, making the world around him hazy. He had to escape this crazy witch. If she would not manage to beat him to death with her crazed walking stick she would have her elite guard do it for her soon enough.

“My lady, I beg you, leave him be”, Gillie stepped in, shrugging off her initial terror and realizing this was all her fault, “I let him in.”

Lady Mara shifted her gaze from the boy at her feet to her plump servant. Corvo tried to use this opportunity to scramble to his feet and flee but the woman grabbed a fist hold of his shirt and all he could do was twist in her grip.

“You did what?!”, the lady roared at Gillie, making her shrink visibly, “who gave you the permission to invite gutter rats into my home?”

Apparently deciding to deal with her unruly servant later, Mara returned her attention to her captive, jerking him up right.

“Empty your pockets, you abominable rubble!”, she commanded fixing Corvo in a paralyzing icy glare.

Since he was reluctant to comply, the lady rose her trusty walking stick again. Corvo closed his eyes, unwilling to see it deliver another blow.

But there was no pain.

He carefully pried his eyes open, afraid that it was what lady Mara had been waiting for. Instead he saw a tall figure forcing the stick out of her hand and twisting him away from her. Corvo was sure his senses had to be fooling him.

“Stop this at once!”, the voice was that of his father. But it couldn't be...

Lady Mara, surprisingly, adhered to the command. Her mouth dropped open, finally lost for words, and her neat narrow brows almost reached her hair-line. She did not resist the man when he took her walking stick away and dropped it to the floor. Corvo watched roll away, relieved. 

There was something odd about the whole situation, but the circumstances prevented the boy from voicing any objections. To be fair, no one said a thing. All of the women, poor Gillie included, stare dumbfounded at the man who had stormed into the room as if he owned the place and took control of the situation. 

Corvo's father put a hand on his son's shoulder, protectively shoving him aside and placing himself between the boy and his oppressor. He removed the tattered cap from his head, stashing it in the back pocket of his baggy work trousers. Corvo was fretfully awaiting the moment when lady Mara would break out of her shock and decide to summon her guards. If one little intruder had deprived her of any restrains, how would she react facing two, were one was a grown man...

“Callisto?”, Gillie whispered, inching closer. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she quickly dried them with the palms of her hands, “how could I have not recognized you!”

To Corvo's astonishment the servant embraced his father, while the man did not oppose and actually returned the hug. 

Lady Mara grimaced sourly, nudging the woman to step away,

“Callisto is dead!”, she almost yelled, shifting her gaze between the man, her servant and her friends cowering in the corner, looking for support of her claim. Corvo's father crossed his arms boldly over his chest, as if there was any need to put a lie to her empty words, no longer reeking with the wisdom of an oracle.

Corvo, furrowing his brow in confusion, desperately tried to make sense of the situation which was growing more incomprehensible by the second. How could this noblewoman, this pinnacle of Karnaca's society know a common factory worker by his name? 

“How dare you hit my son!”, Callisto growled at lady Mara and before Corvo could wonder at his father raising his voice at a noblewoman, he was caught ill prepared for the looks that were cast his way, curious and frightful. The mistress of the household comforted her fingers, as though they suddenly began to hurt her from striking the boy. Her eyes softened, all her previous rage disappearing, replaced by a hollow yearning. Instantly, Mara grew older and she was once more a reputable elderly lady with bony cheeks making her look ghostly and frail.

“This is your son?”, she asked shakily, though the posh tone and nasal quality did not abandon her.

The lady stared deeply into Corvo's eyes, making the boy even more unnerved but he met her gaze and did not shy away. Her irises were oddly familiar when they scrutinized him until Corvo realized why that was so. He thought he might be sick. Lady Mara's eyes were almost identical shade of brown to that of his father, and his own, appearing almost black when there was little light, but gleaming amber upon reflecting sunlight. Corvo didn't like to see this same quality on this woman's face, he didn't like what it meant.

“I'm so glad you finally mustered some interest for my family, mother”, Callisto uttered, the sarcasm in his words unmistakeable. He was barely managing his anger, clenching his fists under his crossed arms. Corvo noticed that his father’s nails were biting painfully into the palms of his hands, almost drawing blood.

The woman, who as the boy sourly reckoned had to be his grandmother, not exactly the person he had imagined her to be, leaned closer to him,

“What is your name?”

“Corvo Attano.”

She straightened to appraise him from afar. Conflicting emotions battled across her face, ranging from disgust to pity. Finally, raising her chin slightly, Mara turned back to her son, who she surely had not seen for years and rather than offer him motherly support she scowled at him,

“Look at yourself, Callisto, look what you have done to yourself. No better than a lowlife beggar. Same goes for your son. You have taken our reputable name and rubbed muck all over it! And you have the nerve to continue to identify yourself with the name Attano? If only your father was home...”

Callisto opened his mouth to speak but huffed instead, finding the accusation laughable,

“I fail to see any relevance to your words, mother. Let me remind you that you were the one who demanded that I leave the household and who proclaimed me dead.”

“By your own wish! I had no other choice!”

“Of course you had, you were just too weak to make the right one. And now I hear you are prosecuting my brother too. I wonder how much longer till he decides to turn away from you. Then you will have the peace and quiet to finally enjoy your fortune. Alone.”

The factory worker spared the miserable lady, now looking quite ashen, one last glare before turning to his son with a small reassuring smile though there was no mirth in it,

“Let's go, Corvo.”

Corvo could not more happy to leave and forget about the whole affair. Unfortunately, his supposed grandmother regained some of her colour and slipped between them and the door, blocking their way out.

“Wait. Perhaps we can come to an agreement. Your actions have inadvertently condemned you to your present life but they have also sealed the fate of your son. We could work something out, although it would require some legal assistance but I'm sure our notary could deal with it. Callisto, if you want a better future for your son, you should leave him with me. He may be a ruffian and savage-like but nothing that some scrubbing, taming and tutoring could not fix in his young age. But the condition is you give your parental authority over to me and never contact the boy again.”

“No.”

All eyes wandered to Corvo, who was the one to voice the objection. In his father's features he recognized pride though other gazes were less sympathetic. Lady Mara, her thin eyebrows doing all they could to furrow, watched, appalled, as her son and grandson shuffle towards the door.

“You ungrateful bastards! You will never get a single penny out of me! Get out! Get out immediately before I summon the guards! Outsider be my witness I should have done that the moment I saw you!”

That made Callisto pause mid step and turn to face the gathered women: lady Mara almost shaking with fury and casting death dealing glares; Gillie, timidly twisting her scarf between thick fingers; the two guests trying to appear invisible while surely expectant to share with other friends the story about the eventful afternoon at the Attano residence. The factory worker bowed before them, one hand to his heart, one behind his back, an incarnation of elegance.

“I bid you farewell, ladies”, he uttered with finality, giving Corvo a glimpse of his former self.

While still within earshot Callisto called back so that his mother would hear, “Oh and don't forget to send money to the refinery for the whale oil I delivered.”


End file.
